


Taking Turns

by intoxicatedcinnamon (orphan_account)



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:57:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/intoxicatedcinnamon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>School hits Makoto pretty hard but Haru will always be there and they fit perfectly :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Turns

**Author's Note:**

> Please do leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed this work!
> 
> Fanart for my fics are waffling at @attemptingtofan on insta, go say hi!!! (we follow back hehe) <3

“Now, as you can see,” Makoto gestures to his right where the slide will be in a few days’ time but his mouth suddenly freezes, and he realises he has no idea what he’s going to say next. His mind is not _blank_ as most descriptions are fond of but it’s whirling and the only thing it seems to be capable of remembering is that he had practiced this in the empty classroom for an hour yesterday and no— _no, this is isn’t fair_. He knows his smile is strained; he’s avoiding his professor’s eyes too much even though he’s supposed to pretend there’s an audience in front of him. There is an embarrassing pause. He looks down at his hands. His team members are sitting scattered in the first row with understanding looks on their faces but Makoto finds them distracting although he doesn’t exactly know what he rather they would do instead.

“Tachibana-san, just try and loosen up, it’s fine. Do you want to sit aside and practice alone for a while?” The professor says this with a small smile and Makoto can’t pinpoint what’s hurtful about her tone (and an inside voice is saying there’s nothing but kindness and patience in it but the tears prickle all the same). Panic rushes up his throat and head in a taunt that _40% of his grade depends on this presentation and there’s only a week more left_. His teammates go up one by one and problems are listed in that same gentle voice “Enunciation, Sakamoto-san”, “Tainaka-san, stop trailing off” sprinkled liberally with reassurances. The fact that everyone is tripping up today even though they had been fine on their own should be comforting but Makoto keeps pushing that flimsy excuse away. He came to Tokyo to study and do well, damn it but it’s scaring him.

Makoto can feel his eyes welling up painfully as he looks down at his script and busies himself by digging through his bag, unzipping his pencil case and getting a pen out so that he can mark out pauses but even he knows this is a weak cover up for his awkwardness. _This is university, Makoto, grow up._ It sounds more like a reproach instead of a reminder and he can only see how pitifully weak he is at taking criticism especially about something he has put his all into.

Halfway through Sakamoto’s second attempt, Makoto feels the tears burning again and ducking in front of him, flees to the railing outside chilled by winter. The university garden is bare and Makoto thinks back to how simple life was back at Iwatobi where _future_ was just a prospect on paper and not a hounding at the back of his mind every time he fails. He misses everything with a sharp twinge, even down to the homework that they did all the time at Haru’s house.

_Haru._

During the lunch break, Makoto grabs his phone and sends a text, hoping that it’s Haru’s lunch time too and he isn’t floating in the pool while his teammates eat like normal people do at 12.

_12:10 Makoto_

Life is hard, Haru

 

_12:13 Haru-chan_

It’s presentation practice today, isn’t it?

 

_12:15 Makoto_

Yeah, and I’m failing miserably I can’t :x

Makoto spoons another mouthful of rice into his mouth while waiting for Haru’s reply. Reading it again, it sounds so defeated and attention-seeking but Haru will understand. Haru always knows. He rests his chin in his hand and tries to run the script through his mind once again but his train of thought is interrupted by an incoming call.

“Hey Makoto, uhm…you-you’ve just got to get through today okay? That’s the only thing you can do, actually,” Haru sounds at a loss for words and Makoto doesn’t blame him, “we can have dinner together tonight.” Makoto is about to say _yes_ , and _okay_ , but Haru cuts in again, urgent and mildly desperate.

“I love you.” He can imagine the way Haru says it, the way his gaze will drop and shift, refusing to meet Makoto’s in public, how he’ll nudge their fingers together but look away. Makoto’s heart seems to settle back into its rightful place, and he lets out a sigh.

“I love you too.”

By right, the day should improve after he hangs up.

But _no_ , self-consciousness and brain-freeze team up to make the rest of practice absolute shit. When he goes back in, he rushes his speech in attempts to remember. His articulation trips him up again and again, and he’s falling headfirst into a cycle of increasing nerves and frustration.

At 6, he hurriedly throws the mess of paper into his bag and gets out of that classroom. Haru will be cooking dinner, and Makoto can almost smell the saba grilling. The train is jam-packed, and sullen tiredness hangs over the entire carriage, exploding into muttered complaints and incredibly insensitive shoving.

Two more stops.

Next stop. 

He walks as fast as possible, entering the apartment building. Fumbling for his keys, Makoto unlocks the door, kicking off his shoes. “Haru! I’m home!” The hallway is silent and dark. A film of disappointment swoops down and lands over his moodiness. The only thing keeping him from breaking down the entire day was the promise of home and dinner but Haru probably had to stay late at impromptu practice again.

He’ll make do. Just barely.

Trying to find a t-shirt in the closet that isn’t Haru’s (that boy has atrocious sorting skills) so he can take a shower, he doesn’t notice the light footsteps coming up behind him until a cool body presses against his back and arms come around his waist to clasp together. “H-Haru? I thought you weren’t home? Why aren’t the lights on?” He stammers out, feeling like time has slowed down. “Yeah, I kinda stayed in the bath for a bit, even my hair is dry,” Haru replies lightly with a gentle laugh. Makoto tries to turn in his embrace but Haru stubbornly clings on, one hand sliding up his shirt and the other still holding him determinedly.

Makoto feels a feather kiss in the middle of his exposed back and Haru’s warm breath ghosting over his spine. “Was it still bad after you called?” Haru mumbles midway through placing small, tender kisses over the ridges of muscle. “Your texts were pretty off.” Makoto opens his mouth to smile and tell Haru not to worry because it was a one-time thing. But the memories of this morning come rushing back, and he feels something in him collapse. Suddenly there are sobs escaping, harsh and ugly—he hunches over from lack of air and the pounding that resumes in his head. The words _Can’t, can’t_ keep coming out of his mouth and that’s all he is made up of.

Haru detaches from him, steering him down to the bed, making sure he’s lying on a pillow. In a faint corner of his mind, Makoto realises that he hasn’t showered and it’s probably defeating the purpose of Haru’s bath but he can’t think further than that. He feels the depression of the mattress as Haru sits on the other corner before his legs are slung gently over Makoto’s hip and he has a hand on the nape of his neck, pulling him lower into his chest. They lay like that—Makoto listening to Haru’s rhythmic heartbeat and breathing and waiting for his own to become regular again.

Although Makoto has always been obviously taller between the two of them, he feels small in Haru’s hold and buries his face into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck still damp from the bath. Haru has never smelled like the mint shower gel they share, just clean and uncomplicated. _Like water_ , a half-thought supplies. And Makoto couldn’t be more grateful for the lack of additional burden on his senses. Haru’s palms move slowly over his back and settle around his waist, applying just enough pressure to feel decisive. Makoto feels like everything has been relinquished to Haru—beautiful, level-headed Haru who knows what to do.  

Stroking the slight curve of his waist, and with fingers in his hair, Haru speaks calmly, “You know, I was looking at the stars out of the window just now… They look nicer ‘cos the bulb in the streetlamp by the stairs blew” He pauses. “I’m trying to think of a way to make sure no one reports it so we can see them all the time, Makoto” It’s hardly relevant, but Haru has never been one for repeated “It’s okay”s or well-meaning smothering. Makoto already knows all the words like _don’t worry_ and _don’t blame yourself_ and there’s no point, really, for Haru to be manufacturing them again. Instead, his low murmuring coupled with the way his body curls tighter every time Makoto's fingers trail up his jaw holds off the panic and makes breathing easy again.

His mind is drifting now but he’s aware of Haru’s warmth and the way his chlorine-roughened fingers are under his shirt and stroking his skin almost unintentionally. Haru’s eyes are closed, long eyelashes casting thin shadows on his cheekbones and Makoto can’t help but marvel that the little boy he grew up taking care of has developed into this person who still surprises him with the ability to balance both delicate and strong in the way he loves him.

Haru’s hand stills, and for a moment, Makoto hazily wonders if he has fallen asleep. But there is the sound of a lazy groan above him, and Haru mumbles “You’re okay now?” Makoto smiles and shifts to kiss his boyfriend’s collarbone through his shirt to answer _I’m good,_ and _thank you_ and _I love you._ With another long exhale, Haru pats his arm and says matter-of-factly “Come on, we’ve gotta go ice your eyes before they swell and you look like a frog in class.”

He stretches out his hand and tilts his head, a lopsided smile accompanying the strangely familiar gesture. The anxiety steadily drips off him and things start turning in roughly the right angle again. Admiring Haru’s shoulder blades subtly shifting with each step as he leads him to the fridge, Makoto figures this is why they’ve always worked—why they’ll fit properly again. They take turns to draw the line, to give way and take control, to gently say _that's enough_ and pull each other out.   

Perhaps it’ll be Makoto’s turn tomorrow.

 

 


End file.
